


nothing but endless empty (the sea in the dark)

by harleyneedsanap



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Non-Linear Narrative, Other, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Season/Series 04, Riddles, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 04:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleyneedsanap/pseuds/harleyneedsanap
Summary: The clock was unplugged. There was dirt between his toes.ORStiles deals with the aftermath of the Nogitsune, alone and surrounded by trees. His only company is the creature stealing Allison's face.





	nothing but endless empty (the sea in the dark)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lunatic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177184) by [forestofbabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofbabel/pseuds/forestofbabel). 
  * Inspired by [The One You Choose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640501) by [Livinginfictions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinginfictions/pseuds/Livinginfictions). 

> Just a quick little thing I wanted to pop out! I don't expect this to get very popular, but I do like it. First time writing for Teen Wolf and it was a lot of fun! Hope you enjoy, drop a kudos and comment at the bottom if you'd like.
> 
> One little note though:  
The whole purpose is to wonder what is a dream and what isn't. The first part isn't a dream that he had before the second part. They're two very real moments at two very different times, both experienced by a boy who can't tell what is and isn't a dream. What is and isn't real.

The trees were singing again. He watched them, still and silent. The trees wouldn’t stop singing. The wind dipped down to dance with the dead leaves. The trees were singing and the wind was dancing and dirt urged him forward. He stepped over roots delicately. This tree didn’t sing. The stump was quiet as he crawled onto it, big enough to hold in seven times over. It cradled him gently, moss sticking to clothes. He laid there silently, soil falling from between his toes. He’d forgotten his shoes, again.

His phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, hushing the static blur ringing as he held it to his ear. “Where are you?” Allison asked.

“You know,” he said back to her, sitting up. Allison stood at the end of tree stump, her phone loose in her hand. She sighed, dropping her arm. She didn’t try to come close, didn’t climb the stump or touch it at all. The moonlight fell on her black hair; it writhed like the roots of a screaming bush.

“M̴̡i̢҉͠҉͢e̶̕͜c̵̶z̧҉y͠͠͏̴s̷͟͟͝ł͏͟͝a̡͜͞w͏͜ ̵̴͜͡,” she tried to say. It came out garbled, staticy. She sounded fake, unreal. He’d never told her his real name.

The trees had stopped singing. His phone had been dead for hours. She was supposed to be dead anyways.

The tree stump pulsed beneath him. _ Run_, it told him. He didn’t move. Allison disintegrated, slow and deliberate. Her face slid off her head but there wasn’t anything there. Just empty dark. Her firefly eyes didn’t scare him. They disintegrated too. He leaned over the edge of the stump, watched as the still dancing wind picked her up and tossed what dust remained of her away.

He blinked, looking over the edge of his bed. He glanced up, standing. His feet were bare when he looked down at them. There wasn’t any dirt between his toes. His bedroom door was ajar. He took a step forward, handing reaching for the knob — 

He woke up, cold and on his bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling. He stood up, moving to stop his static screaming alarm clock.

The clock was unplugged. There was dirt between his toes.

* * *

_ When is a door not a door? _his reflection asked him. Mocked him. He spat out his tooth paste, looking at the mirror again. It looked like him. It didn’t say anything else. He rinsed his mouth out and dried his face, flicking off the bathroom light as he left.

His room was meticulous. Not a thing out of order. He got dressed, went down stairs. He made toast and ate it over the sink, washing away the crumbs and drying it when he was done. He hadn’t been touched in a month. Hadn’t spoken in two weeks. He picked up a pen, scribbled down a note, and stuck it to the empty, silver planes of the fridge. He put the pen back right where he found it.

**Gone to the woods - 10:32 am. Won’t be back.**

He goes to the car - his car. It’s his car, because he is himself. He checks his mirrors and the rear view mocks him again.

_ When is a door not a door? _

_ When is a door not a door? _

_ W̛h̵en͢ iş a҉ ͞d̕oo͢r no͏t ̕a ̶door͝?͞ _

_ Wh̨͝e̕n̛͏ ̷͡i̡͘s̶ ̧̨a̕͜͡ ͘d͢o̶o̷͠r͟ ͞no͟t̶͞ ͟a̴̶ ̧do̕ǫr?͏ ̢ _

_ W̡̢h̡̡͏̷ȩ͞͠n̷̢̢͡͝ ҉҉̵i̡̕s̡̡͜͡ ͘҉a̸̧̢͟ ͞͏̶͞͡d̷o̵̷͜o̶͜r̴҉̷̕ ̢҉͏n̨̨͞͏o̕͞t͡͠͝ ̡̡ą̴̛͟͡ ͢͝͝d̸̵o͘o̸̷̷̕͡r͏?̷͘͞ ̷̸̧͜ _

_ W̶͓̝̲̮ͯ͐̾͡h͙͇͓̱̹͕̜̓̕ẻ̲̻̪̦̜͖̪̱͎̓̑̾ͣ͘n̛͔͉ͨͪͮ̂ͩ̅ͧ͜ ͚͇̠̣̫͇͗ͤͭͣͣ͂͞ͅi͋̍̏ͨ̂҉̨̛̥͔s͕̱̟͙̟̣̜̭ͮ̿ ̰̲͗͐͌̉ͬ̿ͮ͞a̟̎͢ ̃ͪ̔ͧ̀̿ͨ͢͏͚͔̟͖͟d̗̬͎͇̭̦͚̲͆̄̊̆̓̅͌ͯ̚͡o̢͍͚̯͖̥͎̹ͤͣ͊͒ͅo̵̜̹̲̹͚̤̳̅͗̋̿̆̂̇̐r͉͇̺͆̃̋̄ͫ̕ ̽͐͗ͦ̑͊ͧ͛̚͏͕̣͉̭̯̖̟͜ǹ̋ͩ̇̍̚҉̟̖̼̹o͍̯ͩ̌ͧ͛̏̋ͤt̛̛̬̜̼̓̀ ̢̠̫̱̬̯̿̓̋̚a̴̟̤̳͉̫͕͈̅͢ ̳̪͙͉ͥ͊͘d͔̦̀o̍̂͞͏̺̩͈͍̟̝ȏ͛ͨ͏͏̨͎̥̮͔͈͚̳̟ṟ̸̫̗̲̝̠͉̬͑̈́̈́̈́̚͠?̹͍͉͈̬͈̫̇̅ͤ̆͝ ̶̶͎̠͉̦̹͈̩̎̾̈́̒̇̿͒̚ _

“When it’s ajar,” he says. He’s not in the woods. He’s at the water tower. He doesn’t know how he got there. He’s at the top of the water tower. He thinks he sees Allison screaming at him from the ground. He can’t tell if she’s screaming _ jump _ or _ don’t jump_.

“Everyone has it, but no one can lose it,” he tells the paramedic later. She shushes him and he thinks, for a moment, she looks like Allison. But her hair is blonde again a second later, and short too. 

“Everyone has it, but no one can lose it,” he repeats, “What is it?”

She doesn’t answer him.

_ A shadow_, the tree stump whispers to him. He can’t tell if it’s laughing at him or not.


End file.
